


puppy love

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Vicchan Lives, why do i have to add ''he lives'' as a tag?? he never died???? whomst the fuck is canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: A class that Yuuri Katsuki is going to single-handedly petition this damn university into teaching: CRUSH 110, or "what to do when your drunk (and cute as hell) friend starts crying because your dog is too adorable for him to handle".  Because honestly, he can't be the only person out there in this situation.  Right?...Maybe it's better that it doesn't exist, though.  He sincerely thinks he might fail the midterm.





	puppy love

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday, [riki](rikichie.tumblr.com)!!!!!!!!!! ♥ i hope you like this lil quick thing!!!!!

When Yuuri comes back to his apartment carrying poor little Vicchan in his arms, tired out after going to play at the park all evening, he isn’t expecting to see his very cute neighbor and fellow slowly dying college student Viktor Nikiforov sitting in the hallway outside, looking glum.  He _definitely_ isn’t expecting Viktor to take one look at him and then burst into tears.

“Um,” Yuuri says.

Vicchan wriggles against his chest with a quiet snuffle.  Yuuri puts him down, because he might be a tiny dog but carrying him for half a mile is still a little tiring, and very awkwardly steps over his neighbor’s legs to reach his own door.  Vicchan, curious little thing that he is, pads daintily over to nudge Viktor’s hand, and Viktor lets out an honest-to-god sob.

Very awkwardly unlocking his apartment, Yuuri glances at Viktor, shifts his weight, and then goes inside to put his schoolbag down.  When he returns to the hallway, Viktor has Vicchan clutched to his chest and is crying harder than Yuuri did after the ramen incident during exam week last semester.

“Um,” he says again.  “You, uh, have my dog.”

“He’s _so cute,”_ Viktor wails.  “I don’t get it!  He’s almost as cute as the boy who lives across the hall!”

He hiccups, then giggles when Vicchan licks his chin.  It is around now that Yuuri realizes that his poor crying neighbor is very, very drunk.

“He is a very cute dog,” he agrees, because Vicchan is adorable and a great topic of conversation, especially for a drunk college student, _especially_ a drunk college student who apparently thinks Phichit is cute.  (Yuuri is a little disappointed, but it makes sense.)  “Why are you in the hallway?”

“No keys,” Viktor says mournfully.  Vicchan wriggles out of his grip to wind around Yuuri’s legs, obviously wanting to be picked up again, and as Yuuri obliges, Viktor looks heartbroken.  “He—he left me!”

“He just knows me better, that’s all,” Yuuri says.  “It’s not a moral judgment or anything…”

Vicchan snuffles against his shoulder and licks his ear.  Yuuri yelps in surprise and laughs, shaking his head to try and get rid of the weird feeling of _wet_ in his ear. 

“Vicchan, no!”

Viktor is looking up at him with wide, wide eyes.  Yuuri stops laughing at his dog and fidgets self-consciously with the tag on Vicchan’s collar, wondering if he, uh… has something on his face, or… something?

“The cute boy is giggling at the cute dog,” Viktor whispers, clutching at his chest.  “Oh my god, I’m not strong enough for this.”

Suddenly, Yuuri’s face is on fire.  Viktor is drunk, yeah, and that just—he’s being _silly,_ that’s all—but he still just called Yuuri _cute,_ and, um, that’s… was he the cute boy all along?

“I’m not—” he starts, then realizes that getting into a yes-and-no argument with a drunk person is literally the worst decision he could make at any given moment.  “Okay.  Um.  Well.  Is Chris… not home?”

Viktor shakes his head again, still staring like a man bewitched.  “He’s at his boyfriend’s for the night.  Yuuuuuuri, I want a boyfriend.”

“Um,” Yuuri says, but he can’t even slap himself for saying something as stupid as just “um” because the thing that _almost_ just spilled out of his mouth was definitely _I’ll be your boyfriend if you want!_ , and that would have been at least ten thousand times worse.  He can’t just ask Viktor out!  And he _definitely_ isn’t doing that when he’s drunk.

Not like he’s ever going to do it anyway, because Viktor would literally never say yes to _him,_ but.  He’s like, double not doing it when Viktor’s drunk.  That’s just wrong on top of being stupid.

“Uh, okay, listen,” he finally says, fidgeting with Vicchan’s collar to make himself stop thinking about the things that are making him blush, “if you… can’t get into your place, I guess, uh… oh, hell, just come in, I can’t just leave you sitting in the hallway like this.”

He walks back into his apartment, feeling a little more comfortable in his own living room instead of in the hallway, where anyone could theoretically walk in and see him standing over Viktor, crying on the floor.

Viktor absolutely lights up and scrambles to his feet, giggling.  “Okay!  Yay!” he cheers, stumbling after Yuuri.  “Oh— _whoa,_ the floor is _moving,”_ he observes with wonder, wobbling dangerously in place, and Yuuri has to quickly deposit Vicchan on the couch to grab his arm so he doesn’t fall over and hit his head on the coffee table or something. 

Visions of bloody head wounds and concussions and ambulances swim behind his eyes—oh god, if Viktor falls over and starts bleeding everywhere and Yuuri has to call for help that would be _awful_ and Viktor would hate him later, because he should’ve been a better host after inviting him inside, and—

Okay, this… this does not bear ruminating on.

“Please—just sit down,” Yuuri starts to say, guiding him over to the couch with Vicchan, only Viktor just flings both of his arms around him and smushes their cheeks together.

“You’re so _cuuuuute,”_ he wails.  Yuuri feels faintly like his face is going to light on fire at any second now.  Who knew Viktor would be such a clingy mess of a drunk?

“Viktor,” he says, laughing a little, “hey, uh, go sit down, Vicchan is waiting for you over there, see?”

Viktor lifts his head.  “The cute puppy,” he breathes, then looks back at Yuuri, wide-eyed.  His cheeks are dusted with a rosy-pink blush, from all the alcohol no doubt, and he’s… even prettier up close, huh.  Yuuri could spend an eternity just looking at the faint freckles scattered across his nose.  “Really?  For me?”

Viktor still hasn’t let go of him, so Yuuri just pats his shoulder a little awkwardly and uses his foot to kick the door shut behind them.  “Vicchan loves anyone who scratches under his chin,” he says, as if it’s a secret.  “So if you do that, he’ll love you forever.”

Viktor gasps like Yuuri has just told him the true answer to life, the universe, and everything.  “He will?”

Yuuri nods sagely.  “He will.”

Viktor pulls away and totters over to the couch, where Vicchan wags his tail and looks up hopefully.  Yuuri takes this opportunity to go dump his schoolbag in his room, instead of just leaving it on the living room floor, and then puts on the kettle to make some tea.  He’s tired, and he just wants to relax, because dammit all he was productive by bringing his homework to the dog park, but this is… Hm.  Interesting.  Not relaxing, but… interesting.

“Do you want some tea, Viktor?” he asks, pausing, when he goes to get a mug.  Viktor lifts his head, and Yuuri has to swallow another laugh as he realizes that this entire time, Viktor has been sprawled out face-down with his face buried in Vicchan’s side.

“Tea?”

Yuuri nods in agreement.  “Tea.”

“I want tea!” Viktor cheers.  “What kind of tea?”

“Um, I’m making almond oolong for myself,” Yuuri says, “but I have a lot of kinds.  Do you want pomegranate green, maybe?  That one is good.  So’s the peach black, and the apricot white, and—”

“I want whatever you want!” Viktor asserts, then flops back into Vicchan, who sneezes.

“Well,” Yuuri says.  “Alright, then.”

A few minutes later, he carries two steaming mugs over to the coffee table, sets them both down, and goes to the pantry for the dog food.  Vicchan perks up as soon as he hears the can pop; Viktor lets out a soft wail when his pillow deserts him in the interests of dinner.

“I’m being _abandoned!”_ he laments.  “The cute puppy left me!”

Yuuri snorts.  Apparently, Viktor’s flair for the dramatic is only increased when he’s drunk.  (He still remembers their first meeting, when Viktor’s roommate Chris knocked on his door asking if he could borrow some glitter for a project and Viktor actually tackled him from behind, shirtless, while yelling something in French that Yuuri still doesn’t know the meaning of, and all three of them wound up on the floor.)

He joins Viktor on the couch, sighing deeply as he settles down into the cushions, and immediately Viktor latches onto him again, hugging his arm.

“The cute puppy left, but the cute boy came back,” he murmurs.  “I see.  It’s because I’m too weak for them both together.  I understand.  _I understand now.”_

“Why do you keep calling me cute?” Yuuri mutters, hiding his blush behind his tea.  “I’m really not, maybe you need your eyes checked or something…”

Viktor bolts upright, looking comically indignant.  “Fight me, Yuuri!”

“What?!”

“You just called yourself not cute!” Viktor exclaims.  “Have you even _seen_ your face?  I’m so—how can anyone have such squishable cheeks?  And your glasses!  I like them a lot!  You have such pretty eyes!  If I ever kissed a boy I want him to have eyes as pretty as yours!  But you’re the only boy in the world with eyes like that!  And—”

“Viktor, _no,”_ Yuuri moans, putting the tea down to bury his face in his hands.  “You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t—just—I don’t want you to be embarrassed later!”

“I would never be ashamed of thinking you’re pretty,” Viktor says cheerfully.  He gives Yuuri’s arm a squeeze.  “Also, I am _very_ drunk.”

“I noticed,” Yuuri agrees, not moving his hands away.  “You were crying about Vicchan being cute.”

“He’s _so cute,”_ Viktor mumbles, his voice wobbling.  “I love him.  Yuuri?  Yuuri, does he know I love him?”

“He knows,” Yuuri says. 

“Good,” Viktor says.  He pauses.  “Hey.  I wasn’t drinking alone.  I’m not _that_ sad of a person, okay?  Don’t think of me like that!”

Yuuri blinks.  “You were outside your apartment,” he says.  “I didn’t think you were drinking alone…”

“Oh,” Viktor says.  “Phew.  I went to a _party._ I’m an exciting person with a cool life.  I’d be a good boyfriend, you know.”

Yuuri hums, picking up his tea again.  Viktor is just very drunk and rambling.  That’s all.   Maybe if Yuuri just indulges him he’ll be happy.  “Did you have a good time?”

“No,” Viktor says, suddenly miserable.  “I got really drunk but the vodka wasn’t even _good_ and I was sitting in a corner being sad so I just went home.  I lied.  I lied, Yuuri, I’m _sorry,_ I’m a sad person who _would_ drink alone and I don’t have a cool life and I would probably be a very bad boyfriend, p-please don’t hate me—”

He sniffles and almost starts to cry again, shaking, and alarm bells sound in Yuuri’s mind.

“Hey, hey, oh my god, don’t cry!” he exclaims.  “Here, uh, drink your tea, it’s okay, I have a sad life too, I didn’t even go to a party, I just did homework under a tree all afternoon, it’s okay!  You don’t have to go to parties to be a good boyfriend!”

Viktor sniffles.  Then he buries his face in Yuuri’s shoulder and lets out another sob.  “I keep _lying!”_ he wails.  “I’m not a happy person!  I keep being sad!”

“I—it’s okay,” Yuuri says, patting his head very awkwardly, because oh god fuck him he has _no idea_ what to do when his drunk and adorable friend starts bawling into his shoulder because he’s sad.  “You—you don’t have to be happy all the time?”

“N-nobody _likes_ me if I’m sad!” Viktor protests, voice muffled and squeaky.  Yuuri puts his tea back down on the coffee table with a very difficult stretch, because reaching is _hard_ okay, and very awkwardly pulls Viktor into a hug.  Viktor latches on and clings like a barnacle, so he must have done something right.  Phew.

“I still like you?” he offers tentatively.

Viktor goes still.

“Really?”

He sounds very small, very uncertain, and very afraid.

“You r-really mean that?”

Yuuri nods.  “Yeah?  I mean, you’re… yes, I mean it.”

“Wow,” Viktor breathes.  He hugs Yuuri tighter, then relaxes against him.  “So you’re… you’re cute both inside and out…”

This _again?_ Yuuri groans.  “Viktor, _please.”_

“It’s true,” Viktor mumbles.  He sighs.  “You’re cozy.  I like you.”

Yuuri blinks.  “Thanks?”

They sit quietly for a minute or two.  Viktor sniffles once or twice, but he seems like he’s over the worst of it, thankfully.  Yuuri takes the time to marvel at his hair—it’s so _soft,_ what kind of deal with the devil did he make to get conditioner that leaves his hair this soft?—and considers reaching for his tea again, but ultimately doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to accidentally spill it on Viktor or anything.

It’s … odd.  They’ve definitely hung out together before—he and Phichit and Chris and Viktor were all staying in the area over Thanksgiving Break, because Americans are the only ones who celebrate that and they’re all international students, so they had an excuse to cook and have a potluck with just the four of them, and they did something similar for Viktor’s birthday and Christmas because Phichit absolutely _loves_ all things holiday. 

And he’s hung out with Viktor alone, before.  Sometimes they talk about dogs or shared hobbies (like skating), or other times they just sit in the same room to do homework together.

But this is the first time he’s ever been in this close proximity to Viktor for an extended period of time, past quick little hugs or whatever, and it’s… odd, yeah.  But not a bad odd.

Then, horror of horrors, a key sounds in the door, and Viktor _does not move._

Phichit waltzes in with a grand “I’m ho-ome!”, and then abruptly stops dead in his tracks when he sees the two of them snuggled up on the couch.

“Um,” Yuuri says.  He seems to be saying that a lot tonight.  “Hi.”

“Did I, uh, interrupt something?” Phichit asks, waggling an eyebrow.  He _knows_ about Yuuri’s supermassive crush, which is something Yuuri might be about to regret divulging.

“Hi, Phichit!  I’m cuddling with a cute boy,” Viktor stage-whispers.

“He’s really drunk,” Yuuri attempts to explain, hoping to forestall the shit-eating grin already starting to spread across his best friend’s face.  “Really, really drunk.”

“I see,” Phichit says, grinning.  He reaches for his phone.

“Phichit, _no!”_ Yuuri hisses.

“Did you hear me?” Viktor asks impatiently.  “A really, _really_ cute boy!”

“I heard you, loud and clear,” Phichit reassures, very obviously snapping a picture.  “Don’t worry, I’m not posting that anywhere, just keeping it to say _I told you so_ at the wedding.  And yes.  He’s definitely cute.  You should see him at pole classes, though.”

“ _Phichit!”_

“Pole classes?” Viktor asks.  He blinks, then looks up at Yuuri curiously.  Yuuri can’t help but wipe at the smudged tears on his cheeks.

“You should wash your face,” he sighs.  “You cried a lot.  Drink some water, too.  Or else you’ll have such a hangover in the morning…”

“I’m Russian,” Viktor says dismissively, as if that excuses him from drinking responsibly.  “I didn’t know you polevault!”

Phichit actually _cackles_.

“I—I don’t polevault,” Yuuri says, caught somewhere between helpless and bewildered.  “I, um.  Pole dance?”

“You _what?”_ Viktor gasps.  “No way.”

Yuuri groans.  “I know, I don’t look like the type, whatever.  But you know, it’s really good exercise, so…”

“I’m going to _die,”_ Viktor proclaims dramatically, casting a hand to his forehead.  “He’s cute, he likes me when I’m sad, _and_ he pole dances, _and he has a dog.”_

“He is pretty great,” Phichit agrees, laughing.  “And he’s single!”

 _“Really?”_ Viktor gasps, eyes shining.  “Me too!”

“No,” Yuuri says.  “We are not having this conversation while you are _drunk off your ass_ , Viktor.  In fact, we are just, like… not having this conversation ever.  So, uh, yeah.  Let’s just watch a movie.  Let’s do that.”

The beginnings of a pout on Viktor’s face vanish at the word _movie_ , and he lights up.  “Let’s watch Disney!  I wanna watch Mulan!”

“Okay,” Yuuri agrees, because Mulan is pretty great, no matter what, and if they watch a movie nobody will be talking about cute boys and being single.  He knows Phichit is just teasing, but his face is literally going to light on _fire_ if they don’t stop.  So.  “Get up and I can put it on.”

Phichit heads into his room and shuts the door, while Viktor lets out a wail and flops against Yuuri’s chest.  Vicchan finishes up his dinner and hops back onto the couch, clambering on top of Viktor and curling up on his back with a satisfied _wuff_.

“I can’t get up!” Viktor says.  “Never!”

“Then how are we supposed to watch Mulan?” Yuuri asks, frowning.

Phichit reenters the living room carrying his laptop, this time clad in pajamas instead of jeans, and puts it down by the TV.  “We’re watching the King and the Skater,” he announces.  “It’s _the_ best movie.  Period.  And last week you said you hadn’t seen it!”  He pauses, HDMI cord already in hand.  “You’re cool with seeing it again, right Yuuri?”

“Sure,” says Yuuri, who is more interested in his tea than anything else, really.  “I don’t mind.”

“Is it Disney?” Viktor asks curiously.

“No,” Phichit says.  “It’s _better.”_

He plugs his laptop in, presses play, and prods Viktor’s legs.  “Move, loverboy, this couch has room for three!”

Viktor huffs and complains like the seal in that one video Yuuri watched at four in the morning last week and cried over because he started laughing too hard, but he curls his legs in and lets Vicchan settle in front of him instead of on his back.  Phichit plops down, puts his legs up, and settles down.

All in all, it’s not quite the evening Yuuri had imagined, but as he goes to bed after handing Viktor some spare clothes, a blanket, and pillow so that he can pass out on the couch, he figures it really wasn’t that bad anyway.

In the morning, he wakes at nine as usual, groggy and seriously contemplating going back to sleep.  Vicchan, however, is a morning dog, and he is antsy for breakfast or a walk, jumping on Yuuri’s stomach and wagging his tail.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” Yuuri grouses, unable to actually be grumpy at the World’s Most Adorable Puppy.  He sighs deeply, then pushes the blankets aside, playfully draping them over Vicchan, who huffs at him and wriggles free quickly.

Bleary and entirely not awake enough for this, Yuuri gives Vicchan a pat of farewell and stumbles in the general direction of the bathroom, walking past the kitchen and vaguely considering that he wants tea.  It’s not until he’s squinting at himself as he brushes his teeth that he realizes that he should have put the kettle on so the water would boil by the time he finishes up in here, and promptly smacks himself on the forehead.

There is someone in the kitchen, which is not unusual.  Phichit is often up earlier than him, handling breakfast for the two of them, while Yuuri usually makes dinner.  Right now, the only thing Yuuri wants in his blurry, glasses-free world is a good, strong cup of black tea, or maybe more sleep.  Why is his dog such a morning person?

As usual, he bypasses “good morning” and opts for a long, drawn-out groan as he shuffles up behind Phichit and plants his face into his shoulder.

And then pauses.

Did Phichit just get a lot paler and a lot taller in the middle of the night, or…

Suddenly, his useless brain wakes up a little more and provides him with the memory of _who exactly spent the night on his couch,_ which would have been a lot more useful all of five seconds ago, and mortified, he almost screams.

_Oh, shit._

“Yuuri!”  Viktor, as in _very cute Viktor Nikiforov from across the hall,_ turns around with a bright grin and a brighter laugh and wraps an arm around him, patting his shoulder.  “Good morning to you too!”

“I am so sorry,” Yuuri blurts out, stumbling back.  “I—I thought you were Phichit.”

The grin dims and falters, and Yuuri feels a little guilty.  “Ah,” Viktor says, quickly letting go.  “Well.  Sorry to disappoint.”

Yuuri clears his throat very awkwardly and shifts his weight from foot to foot.  “I, uh, didn’t say I was disappointed,” he mumbles, staring at the floor in the hope that it might swallow him.  “I, um, I was just, surprised.  Uh—hey!”  He fumbles for a quick change of topic.  “Do you need any painkillers or anything?  For, you know, the hangover?”

Viktor shakes his head dismissively.  “I’m Russian,” he says, just like he did last night.  Yuuri gives him an incredulous look.

“I’m pretty sure Russians can still get hangovers,” he mutters, “but okay.”

Looking around the apartment, he notices the door to Phichit’s room is ajar, and if his blurry vision doesn’t cheat him, the bed and desk are both vacant.  That’s odd.  It’s Sunday.  There’s no need for Phichit to be gone this early.

“Do you know where Phichit went?”

Viktor nods, turning back to the stove.  “He said he really wants strawberries but ate the last of them yesterday, so he’s making a quick run to the corner store.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says.  It’s just the two of them, in the kitchen in pajamas—Viktor is wearing _borrowed clothes,_ too, though Yuuri’s sweatpants are a little short on him—on a Sunday morning, and his poor little gay heart is desperately trying (and failing) to ignore how incredibly _domestic_ this feels.  Especially the part where Viktor hugged him good morning as if that was a perfectly normal thing.

 _I could get used to this,_ he thinks, and then mentally smacks himself for daydreaming about married life when they aren’t even dating yet—

Wait.  Yet?

When did he start thinking _yet?_

Oh, god, he is not awake enough and he’s being _ridiculous._ And it’s _raining_ outside, he realizes, looking up to see if he could use walking Vicchan as a quick escape if need be.  If the rain doesn’t let up in an hour they’ll go out and weather it, but he doesn’t… want to deal with a wet dog in the house, this early in the morning.

For further distraction from his ludicrous pining heart, he sidles around Viktor and squints at the stove.  “Are you making… pancakes?”

“More or less!” Viktor says, smiling again.  It’s softer than his exuberant grin from earlier.  “I made some alterations to a recipe for blini because I didn’t wake up early enough to let the yeast rise properly.  So, yes, we can call them pancakes.  The bastardized, sad college student version of blini.”

“America tends to ruin most food, it’s okay,” Yuuri mutters, because he’s still bitter about that one sushi bar that his study group for statistics wanted to meet up at. 

Viktor lets out a surprised and delighted laugh, like he wasn’t expecting himself to find anything in that sentence funny but did.  “Very true!  Oh, god, Yuuri, is America getting to me?”

“I hope not,” Yuuri says.  “It’s definitely getting to me.  I don’t like it.”

Viktor grins again, all cheery and warm, but then he sobers quickly, sighing and hanging his head.  He’s very expressive and also very pretty.  Even if he is blurry.  Nobody should be allowed to be this pretty early in the morning. 

“I, ah… I’m sorry about last night,” he says contritely, looking over at Yuuri with big blue eyes.  “Thank you for taking care of me.  You didn’t have to.  I really hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, but if I did, I’m very sorry.  I know I was being very, ah, flirty, wasn’t I?”

Yuuri blinks.  “Ah—no, it’s fine,” he says, trying to ignore the way his heart sinks a little.  Of _course_ it had just been the alcohol talking.  Viktor is just a flirty and emotional drunk.  That’s all.  He told himself as much last night.  “I—you didn’t make me uncomfortable or anything.  Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re drunk; I understand.”

Viktor flips the pancake on the stove and then turns to face Yuuri, eyes even wider and brows drawn together in consternation, like Yuuri said something incomprehensible.  Did he accidentally forget to speak in English?  No, he’s pretty sure that wasn’t Japanese.  “But—no, Yuuri, you don’t—that’s the thing.  I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean!”

Yuuri blinks.

“You called me cute,” he says, bewildered.

“I did, and I _meant_ it,” Viktor agrees.  The spatula is clutched in his hand like he’s actually nervous about this.  “You are.  I didn’t—I hadn’t planned on telling you this way, that’s all, but… you are.  Um.  You’re very cute.”

Viktor’s cheeks are kind of pink.  Yuuri is tempted to ask if he’s been drinking again, because that makes _no sense._ Does he—does he have _eyes?_ They’re very pretty and very blue, yes, but do they work properly?

Yuuri shakes his head.  “Hold on,” he says, and walks back into his bedroom, where Vicchan has curled himself into a little round ball on his pillow and fallen back asleep, as if he wasn’t jumping all over Yuuri ten minutes ago.  That little traitor just wanted the bed all to himself, didn’t he?

Sighing to himself, he presses a quick kiss to the top of Vicchan’s head and grabs his glasses, then squares his shoulders and marches himself back to the kitchen.  It’s _still_ too early for this, and he is pretty sure he’s blushing hard enough that he could cook a pancake on his own face, but he can’t just leave Viktor in the kitchen alone and hide.  That would make things super awkward if they ever saw each other again, and Yuuri doesn’t _want_ to avoid him for the next few years of their college careers, like he’s doing with that one hockey player from his economics class last semester.

Viktor looks up from the stove, a little uncertain and a little hopeful and a little apprehensive, when Yuuri approaches.  Yuuri unceremoniously shoves his glasses onto his nose (god, his freckles are so cute) and squints up at him.

“Here,” he says.  “You may need your eyes checked.  Is it easier to see with those on?”

Viktor blinks a few times, startled.  It’s only when he tips his head back and starts to laugh that Yuuri realizes he’s had his hands cupping Viktor’s cheeks this entire time, and his face flames.

Viktor slowly sinks down to the floor, laughing too hard to stand up, and flaps a hand at Yuuri for several seconds before he manages to wheeze into words, “ _God,_ you’re so cute, holy mother of fuck,” and dissolves into helpless giggles again.  Yuuri wordlessly takes the spatula from his other hand and flips the pancake on the stove.

“Maybe you need a different prescription,” he muses.  “I don’t know how someone who looks at your face in the mirror every morning could possibly think _I’m_ attractive.”

“What?!”

Viktor takes the glasses off and looks up at him, _definitely_ blushing.  Yuuri frowns.  “Has nobody told you you’re pretty?”  That’s kind of hard to believe.  Viktor is easily one of the most beautiful men to ever walk the planet.

“You… think I’m pretty?”

“Um… yes?” Yuuri asks, confused.  “Does anyone not?”

Viktor squeaks.  He actually _squeaks._ Then he holds out the glasses and offers them to Yuuri, who tucks them into the collar of his shirt because he doesn’t particularly feel like making the world less blurry while having a conversation this surreal.  Viktor called him cute and then squeaked.  There’s no way this is happening, so he must still be dreaming.  The thought is actually kind of calming—if this is just a weird dream, nothing he says will count against him.

(It feels very real, but that doesn’t mean anything, right?)

“So you’re _sure_ none of what I said or did last night made you uncomfortable?” Viktor asks, blinking up at Yuuri again.  His hair is kind of sleep-mussed and looks even softer than usual.

“No, it was mostly just cute,” Yuuri assures absently, “though I’m sorry you were sad.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, looking chastened.  “Right.  I vaguely remember crying on you.  Sorry about that.”

“I told you, it’s fine.  Are you still sad?”  Yuuri asks, prodding the pancake with the spatula because he’s still sleepy and having trouble resisting the urge to play with Viktor’s hair.  It’s a lot floofier-looking when he’s just slept on it and not combed it down yet.

“Ah.  Um.  No, not really,” Viktor says.  “Thanks for asking.”

“You can tell me if you are,” Yuuri offers, biting his lip.  “I mean—sorry, I shouldn’t pry or anything, I know it’s your business.  But, um, if you ever need… anything?”

Viktor is looking up at him with stars in his eyes, as if Yuuri just lit up the heavens and they fell down and gathered in those pools of beautiful blue.  Hmm.  Maybe he shouldn’t wax poetic about Viktor’s pretty eyes, even in the safety of his own mind in what might just be a dream.  He figures it’s safer if he just doesn’t embarrass himself.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, swallowing hard.  “Would you, um.  Would you be interested in getting dinner with me?  Tonight?”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Yuuri says automatically, because of that stupid stats study group and their Sunday night café study sessions.  He’s told them that they can’t meet at Japanese restaurants anymore unless he picks them personally.

Viktor looks crestfallen.  “Oh.  Right.  Of course.  Sorry, I …”  He shakes his head, starting to get up.  “You know, I can get out of your hair, Chris should be back soon and I can go to the library in the meantime—”

Yuuri is confused.  Why is he so disappointed about this?

He runs the sentence over in his mind again.  _Would you be interested in getting dinner with me?_

Wait.

_Wait._

“Wait!” he gasps, dropping the spatula and clapping his hands to his cheeks in shock.  It clatters to the floor, but he doesn’t notice at all.  “Were you—were you asking me out?  Like, on a _date?”_

Viktor stops halfway through standing to leave and just sits down on the floor again, blinking.  “Um.  Yes?  That… wasn’t clear?”

“Oh my _god,”_ Yuuri breathes.  “The most beautiful man I’ve ever met just asked me on a date and _I didn’t notice.”_

Viktor’s face goes red.  “The most beautiful— _Yuuri,_ you can’t just _say_ something like that,” he moans, hiding his face in his hands.  “So, um, is that a yes, but not for tonight?”

“I can tell the study group I’m not coming,” Yuuri says breathlessly.  “I’d much rather go—go out with you tonight.”

Viktor shakes his head, looking up from his hands.  “And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I encouraged you to abandon your studies?” he lectures, wagging a finger at Yuuri sternly.  “No, we can do dinner another night!”

“Ohmygod you called yourself my _boyfriend,”_ Yuuri wheezes.  “I need to sit down—”

He starts to plop down on the floor right where he is, but Viktor holds out his arms plaintively and catches him.  “No, no, sit with me!” he whines, pulling Yuuri into his lap.  Yuuri goes stiff as a board for a moment, his eyes wide, and Viktor leans his head over his shoulder to look at him anxiously.  “Is this okay?”

 _“Yes,”_ Yuuri squeaks.  “Oh my god.”

“You’re sure?” Viktor presses.  “You seem a little, uh, tense?”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Yuuri answers, pressing his hands to his cheeks again.  “Oh my goodness.”

Viktor responds with a warm laugh as he squeezes him, pulling him closer to his chest, and Yuuri finally relaxes and snuggles against him, turning in his lap to wrap an arm around his neck, tentative but giddy and excited.  This is _really happening._ He’s cuddling with Viktor on his kitchen floor and they’re going on a _date_ at some point.

He tucks his head into Viktor’s shoulder, feeling a little giggle bubble up in his throat, and wiggles his feet because he has too much happy energy and it has to come out _somehow_.  Viktor gives him another tight, tight squeeze.

“I can’t believe you started crying last night because Vicchan is cute,” Yuuri teases.  “That was actually the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Viktor huffs out a laugh.  “Yuuri!” he complains good-naturedly.  “If you really want to know, I was also crying because _you_ were so cute and so totally out of my league.”

“What,” Yuuri says flatly, drawing back to look at him.  “Me.  Out of _your_ league.”

“Well, yes, you’re—you,” Viktor says, shrugging and gesturing to all of Yuuri.  “Of course.”

_“What.”_

 Before Viktor can further explain that ridiculous statement, a key sounds in the door again.  Yuuri freezes like a deer in the headlights as the door flies open and Phichit waltzes in with a box of strawberries, singing “I’m hoooome!  Yuuri if you’re still in bed get the _fuck_ up or I’ll—”

And then stops.

And stares.

“Hi,” Yuuri says lamely.  “I’m up.”

“He’s not drunk this time,” Phichit observes.  “You can’t give me a heterosexual explanation for this.”

“There isn’t one,” Viktor assures him, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Yuuri’s cheek.  Yuuri gasps, the hand that isn’t wrapped around Viktor’s shoulders flying up to touch the spot where Viktor _kissed him._

“Oh my god,” Phichit says, slowly reaching into his pocket for his phone like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.  “Do that again, I need to document this.  _The Day Yuuri Katsuki Finally Got His Man._   I’m putting it in the wedding slideshow.”

 _“Phichit!”_ Yuuri moans, flushing all the way down to his neck.  “You’re going to kill me.  You are.”

“I realize it’s very early to be planning a wedding,” Viktor says, “but sweetheart—hey, can I call you sweetheart?—I hope you know I’ll be picking the ties.  I still haven’t forgotten the one you wore at the international student social last year.”

“You can call me sweetheart, yes,” Yuuri mumbles, hiding his face in Viktor’s neck again.  “I’m going to die right now.”

“Please don’t,” Viktor requests.  His arms are still very snugly wrapped around Yuuri, and he’s still wearing Yuuri’s clothes and he’s very warm and solid, and Yuuri is going to _die right now._   “We can’t plan the wedding if you’re dead, dear.”

“Too late,” Yuuri mumbles into his shoulder.  “I’ve died and gone to heaven already.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor gasps, delighted.  “That was the cutest thing—you can’t just say these things out of the blue like that!”

“Wait, what’d he say?” Phichit asks, finally shutting the door again.

“He said he’s already in heaven!” Viktor exclaims, giddy.  Yuuri wants to go back to sleep and hug his dog and also his new boyfriend and stop blushing.  He was wrong—there’s no way this can be a dream.  Phichit is giggling way too gleefully for it to be anything but reality.

“He’s a romantic sap at heart,” Phichit says.

“Me too,” Viktor sighs dreamily.  He squeezes Yuuri against his chest again and leans his cheek against his temple, humming.  Yuuri, who can feel the vibration of that hum in Viktor’s chest, is having an exceedingly difficult time not melting into a weak, gay puddle on the spot.  “See?  We’re perfect together!”

“Hey,” Phichit interjects.  “Not to dampen the mood, but, uh… does anyone else smell something burning?”

Yuuri and Viktor exchange glances of wide-eyed horror.

“ _The pancakes,”_ Yuuri gasps, scrambling out of Viktor’s grasp to his feet.  The spatula is still on the floor, so he panickedly grabs a new one from the drawer and flips the pancake from the pan into the plate next to it.  All three of them look at its blackened surface ruefully.

“Well,” Viktor finally says, wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s waist so easily that a little thrill of electricity runs all the way from his hand up Yuuri’s spine, “in both love and war, I suppose some sacrifices must be made.”

He winks at Yuuri at this last statement, gives him another affectionate squeeze, and lets go to pick up the bowl next to them. 

“We have more batter,” he adds, while Yuuri keeps standing there in front of the stove trying to force himself to function after having that so _casually_ said to him.  “It’s not a big loss.”

“I’m just glad the fire alarm didn’t go off,” Phichit says.  “Vicchan was _not_ a fan last time that happened.”

Yuuri winces at the memory.  “No,” he says, and then blinks because he managed to find his voice.  “No, he was not.”

“Well,” Phichit says cheerfully, “I still have strawberries!  And there’s syrup, I checked before I went to the store.  So it isn’t a complete loss!”

“It’s a very small price to pay for what I gained in the process of burning it,” Viktor agrees, firing a dazzling smile over his shoulder at Yuuri, who makes a noise somewhat akin to a dying whale represented by a trombone.  “I thank this brave pancake for its sacrifice.”

“We can give it a Viking funeral,” Phichit suggests, and laughs.  “Viktor, you might need to tone down the gay, I think Yuuri’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Impossible!” Viktor says.  “He’s already in heaven, he said.  He can’t die again.  He’s safe!”

He turns around and tugs Yuuri over, wrapping his arm around his waist again while ladling batter onto the pan to make a fresh pancake.  Yuuri lays his head on his shoulder and realizes he still doesn’t have his tea, but he doesn’t want to move away yet, so he just sighs and hugs Viktor to himself and resigns himself to being sleepy.

“Don’t worry,” Viktor says, patting his side affectionately.  “You’re very cute even when you make weird noises, trust me.  What’s all this sighing for?”

“Morning,” Yuuri sighs mournfully.  “It’s too early.”

“Yuuri is not a morning person,” Phichit says helpfully.  “Tea might wake him up.  Have you had tea yet?”

Yuuri shakes his head.  “Was busy being gay.”

“That’s a good excuse, I approve.”  Phichit nods sagely.  “I’ll make tea for all of us if you wash the strawberries, how’s that sound?”

Yuuri considers that.  He’d have to let go of Viktor, but he’d get breakfast out of it.  And then the three of them can sit together and enjoy breakfast, nice and cozy while the rain patters against the window, and he can continue trying to wrap his head around Viktor being his boyfriend now.

All in all?

“That sounds good,” Yuuri says, and smiles.


End file.
